Turnabout
by Beachhead30
Summary: What happens when the Joe SEAL team has five days to extradite a high-ranking COBRA traitor holed up in Iraq? High adventure, with lots of twists and turns, naturally! The follow-up to Training Day, and Depth Charge's second mission, unfolds here!
1. Preparation

Turnabout  
  
Chapter 1- Preparation  
  
0800 hours, present day  
  
Duke paced the command room, digesting the information he just received. According to the latest intelligence, a high-ranking COBRA officer was less than enamored with Cobra Commander's petty scheming and fled COBRA Island. Last seen on the outskirts of Sinjar in Iraq, the woman had contacted the Russian Embassy and asked for extraction and protection in exchange for vital information on the whereabouts and tactical plans of COBRA. The Ambassador immediately placed a call to the President of the United States, who in turn contacted the PIT. General Tomahawk requested a videoconference with Duke and POTUS to determine the course of action.  
  
Fearing a trap, Duke reluctantly advised POTUS and General Hawk to send in a small squad to locate and evacuate the defector. Wanting to send in his best unit, Duke chose the SEALs, who were fresh off a successful hostage rescue in the Pacific. Depth Charge was fully recovered from the gunshot wounds he sustained, and Torpedo made it very clear that he was the sole reason for the previous mission's success.  
  
Even Wet Suit and Shipwreck, who in his opinion were not very good team players, spoke highly of the younger sailor's actions on the research platform. That spoke volumes to Duke, and made the command decision on which team to send that much easier. He walked over to Dial Tone and said, "Have that last transmission from our defector patched through to the briefing room. Also alert Torpedo, Shipwreck, Wet Suit, and Depth Charge that their team has been tapped for another mission. The briefing will begin at 1000 hours."  
  
"Yes sir," Dial Tone replied turning to the terminal to comply with the commands. He routed the transmission to the briefing room's terminal, where it would be waiting for Duke to access once the session started, then called each sailor individually and advised them of the meeting scheduled in two hours. Each man acknowledged and repeated the time to ensure accuracy, then resumed their normal duties, waiting for the appointed time to arrive.  
  
0950 hours  
  
Torpedo arrived at the briefing room to find Depth Charge and Shipwreck already there, the older sailor attempting to awe the younger with a fabricated story about a half-mermaid COBRA woman he had once been in love with. It appeared that the younger man was hanging on every word, and Torpedo shook his head in amusement. You'll learn one day, kid, he thought. Just as Wet Suit came striding in, Depth Charge boomed, "What a load of shit! A fucking mermaid?" he asked before bursting into laughter.  
  
Wet Suit looked at Torpedo, who shrugged and started laughing along with the younger SEAL. Shipwreck looked mortally wounded, crossing his arms and scowling. "Telling tales about the mermaid again, eh Hector?" Wet Suit asked. "It's a wonder the FNG even listened to you." He turned to face Depth Charge, who was now laughing uncontrollably at the older sailor's pissed expression. "Hell, it's not like any of your stories are feasible, my friend," Wet Suit added, "but we love them just the same." At this, both Torpedo and Wet Suit burst into laughter, and with Depth Charge still howling, Shipwreck suppressed a chuckle and attempted to keep up the wounded act.  
  
Duke walked in at 0958 to find all the soldiers in tears from laughter. Once they caught sight of him, they attempted to straighten up, but were miserably unsuccessful. "ATTEN-SHUN!" Duke shouted. The sailors' training took over and they shot to their feet, all thoughts of laughter now abandoned. It was go time, and the Joes needed to concentrate on the duties at hand.  
  
"At ease, gentlemen, and grab a seat," Duke ordered. He proceeded to advise the SEALs of the intelligence findings, and replayed the transmission from the COBRA defector, code-named Turnabout. As the Joes listened to the feed, Duke passed around dossiers with all the known information on the defector. The packet included a picture dated 2001, and also a progressive aging comparison for reference. The Joes studied the pictures carefully, and then committed the maps and mission information to memory so they would not be caught carrying documentation.  
  
"Men, it is your responsibility to get from here to Ramstein by tomorrow afternoon. You will be issued government credit cards, and we expect you to go civilian clothes and use civilian airlines. Upon your arrival at Ramstein, an Air Force lieutenant named Carl Tomlinson will meet you at the Military Air terminal. He will be transporting you to Incirlik Air Force Base in Turkey, the staging ground for your operation. There you will switch over to a C-130 Hercules and be inserted via HALO. Once on the ground, you will only have five days to procure the package and get the hell out of Dodge. Once Turnabout is in your control, you need to cross over into Turkey and radio for pick-up," Duke advised. "Any questions?" Duke asked. When none of the Joes responded, he said, "Good luck, and Godspeed. Dismissed!"  
  
The sailors exited the briefing room, each lost in their own thoughts.  
  
1115 hours  
  
As the other Joes packed their bags, Depth Charge powered up his PC and went to www.travelocity.com to secure a flight for four to Frankfurt. He also used their service to secure a rental car for the drive to Ramstein AFB. After he printed the screen with his e-confirmation number, he grabbed some clothes and stuffed them in his bag, then changed into black jeans and his lucky black Superman t-shirt. Noticing his teammates staring at him, he flushed to the tips of his ears.  
  
"What?" he asked. "Can't a guy have a hero without getting shit for it?" Wet Suit and Shipwreck just looked at each other as if they were reading one another's minds, both grinning like fools.  
  
Torpedo chuckled and replied, "Sure, man. Wait a sec and let me get my Aquaman Underoos outta my footlocker." The other two sailors started gut- laughing at that one, and Depth Charge started to take the shirt off. "Don't do that," Torpedo said. The veteran SEAL grinned at Depth Charge, and motioned him closer, indicating he needed to whisper something to the younger man. Depth Charge moved over towards the bigger man and cocked his head to one side, offering his ear. "Those two are just too embarrassed to admit they think Superman is cool," Torpedo said. He rolled up his sleeve and showed Depth Charge a tribal tattoo with the Superman logo in the center. "Me? I got no problems with Big Blue."  
  
Once their clothes were packed, the four warriors shouldered their carry-on bags and headed for the motor pool, eager to get this mission underway.  
  
The 7-hour United Airlines flight to Frankfurt went smoothly, and the Joes had no incidents getting through the security checkpoints at the airport. They headed over to the car rental area, carry-ons in tow, and secured the rental car and a map of Germany from the attractive brunette behind the counter. As they walked away, joking among themselves about who would drive, they failed to notice the attendant leave her post and dial her cell phone.  
  
Her eyes drilling holes into the warriors' backs, she waited for the man on the other end to answer. After 6 rings, a terse voice answered, "What is it, Viper1136?" (translated from German)  
  
"The Joes have arrived. They have the altered car, and everything is proceeding according to plan," the woman replied in aristocratic German.  
  
"Excellent!" the man exclaimed. "We shall let these fools lead us right to our prey, and then destroy them. COBRA!" 


	2. Transit

Turnabout  
  
Chapter 2- Transit  
  
0325 hours, local time  
  
Wet Suit pulled the black Volkswagen Jetta out of the car garage while Shipwreck consulted the map and found the route they were looking for, pointing it out to the younger SEAL. Once he was finished, Shipwreck and the other Joes leaned their heads back and took quick combat naps in their respective seats. Finding the proper on-ramp, he maneuvered through traffic towards the A6-E50. Wet Suit angled the rental car out into the flow of traffic, quickly gunning the engine to merge into the sea of speeding cars.  
  
Christ, even at 0330 the highways in Germany are crowded, he thought. He settled into his seat, estimating he had about an hour and a half drive to Ramstein AB. His thoughts turned to the mission ahead of them, and he wondered what COBRA would send to retrieve the traitor.  
  
While he had no doubts as to his team's capabilities, he also knew they were only four men, not a bunch of super heroes. As he silently thought about the odds which could possibly be stacked against them, Depth Charge cleared his throat softly and said, "You're thinking about that too, eh?"  
  
"About what?" Wet Suit replied.  
  
"How badly COBRA is going to want this person back, and what they're going to send after her," Depth Charge countered.  
  
"Yeah," Wet Suit grunted noncommittally. "What do you think?"  
  
"Well, if it were a Joe traitor, you know what Hawk would do," Depth Charge started.  
  
"He'd throw all the Joes out there to bring that person back, dead or alive," Wet Suit said.  
  
"Exactly. And why should Cobra Commander be any different?"  
  
"Well, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, for one."  
  
"No, but Destro is, and these are his stomping grounds."  
  
"True. Hopefully we'll be in and out so fast that no one will ever know."  
  
"There is that, but I don't know," Depth Charge hesitated. "I hate to say it, but I've got a bad feeling about this."  
  
"Me too, man. Me too," the big SEAL replied.  
  
0500 hours  
  
As the car slowed down for the exit to Ramstein, Torpedo and Shipwreck stirred awake. Noticing Depth Charge was already bright-eyed and looking at the surroundings, obviously lost in thought, Shipwreck nudged Wet Suit and asked, "What's eating the kid?"  
  
"Same thing that should be eating you, you old salt," came the reply. "He and I are both worried about the possible opposition. It's bad enough we're going into Iraq, but worse not knowing what COBRA will throw our way."  
  
"Psssh!" Shipwreck snorted. "The day I worry about the snakes is the day they'll be throwing dirt on my coffin. We're not going to be on the ground long enough for them to even know we're there, man."  
  
"That all depends on how quickly we locate the defector," Torpedo said from the back seat. "This mission all comes down to how quickly we can locate Turnabout, and her proximity to the border. If she's retreated farther inland, we may find ourselves fighting our way in and out of this country."  
  
Wet Suit pulled up to the main gate at Ramstein and handed over the team's ID cards for verification. The MP on duty couldn't have been more than 19, and he looked cold and miserable. The soldier took the ID cards and headed for the guardhouse, where the Joes could see an older MP drinking a hot beverage and watching the monitors. The younger guard handed the cards to him, and then turned to head back outside.  
  
The warriors all saw the man in the booth pick up a phone, and then the younger MP blocked their view as he approached the car. Always impatient, Shipwreck leaned across Wet Suit and asked, "There a problem, son?"  
  
"No sir. Just routine verification of ID, sir," the nervous guard replied. The Joes couldn't help but notice the young man's hands as he stroked the grip of his M16. Torpedo slid forward in his seat and put a hand on Shipwreck's shoulder, firmly forcing him back into his seat before he could make this situation any worse.  
  
"It's fine, Private." he started.  
  
"Wisniewski," came the reply.  
  
"My friend gets a little aggravated after long flights," Torpedo said, smiling to ease the tension.  
  
"Chief, I." Shipwreck started.  
  
"Stow it, sailor," Torpedo commanded with a stern look.  
  
"Aye-aye," Shipwreck mumbled.  
  
After a few tense minutes, the guard inside the booth called out to Private Wisniewski, who quickly ran inside to see what he was needed for. There was a brief exchange, and finally the younger MP came back outside, ID cards in hand. "Sorry for any inconvenience, sirs," the corporal said. "Since 9/11 we've had to shore up security. Head over to the Military Air Command (MAC) terminal. Just follow the signs and you should have no problems. You can bunk there for the remainder of the night, and your contact will meet you at 0900. Welcome to Germany, sirs. Hope you enjoy your stay." After he handed the cards back to the SEALs, the gate raised and he waved the warriors through.  
  
**********  
  
The observer spotted the black Jetta entering the gates of the base. He dialed a number on his cell phone, and the MP in the guardhouse answered with a quick "Yes?" on the second ring.  
  
"Did you perform your duty?" the man asked. Through his high-powered binoculars, as he glanced outside towards PFC Wisniewski, he could see the MP's shoulders slump.  
  
"The devices you provided have been given to each Joe. Just as you instructed," the MP whispered. "They were difficult to apply, as they wanted to slide off continually, but the job is complete."  
  
"Were any of the Joes wearing gloves?" the observer asked.  
  
"Not that I could see, my lord."  
  
"If they were, we will have to find another way to infect them with the transmitters. Well done. I'll see to it that the Commander is notified, and you are duly rewarded," the gruff voice replied.  
  
"All hail COBRA!" the MP said in a harsh whisper.  
  
Before the connection went dead, the MP thought he heard the voice say, "Indeed."  
  
Destro turned to face the Baroness, who looked stunning in the ermine coat she was wearing. "It is done."  
  
"Excellent." the Baroness purred. "Now let's get out of this cold, darling. We have more work to do."  
  
The Iron Grenadier posing as their driver swiftly opened the back door of the limousine, and Destro stood aside, allowing his lady to enter first. He glanced back over his shoulder at Ramstein AB, taking a deep breath of the cold night air. "Soon, Sharrome, soon." he muttered.  
  
"Did you say something, my love?" Baroness asked from the back seat.  
  
He replied, "No. Nothing at all." He climbed into the back seat and the limo sped away into the early morning hours.  
  
**********  
  
Wet Suit followed the brightly lit signs to the MAC and found a place to park. He popped the trunk, and everyone got out and grabbed their bags. They strode into the MAC and approached the metal detector, slinging their bags up on the table to be screened. Once that was done, they proceeded to check in, then settled in to await their flight to be called. The SEALs found a row of empty seats and were asleep within moments.  
  
1030 hours  
  
Torpedo was nudged awake and looked up to see a young sergeant standing before him. The man saluted and said, "Sergeant Culber, sir. I assume you four are the 'special cargo' headed for Incirlik?"  
  
Torpedo stood, returned the salute, and replied, "I wouldn't say 'special', but yeah, that's us."  
  
Culber looked around at the sleeping Joes, his eyes coming to rest on Shipwreck, who was snoring softly. He flashed a broad grin at Torpedo and asked, "Need a few minutes?"  
  
"Thanks," the SEAL replied. He turned to his teammates and woke each in turn.  
  
"Aww, mom," Shipwreck complained. "Five more minutes? I don't wanna go to school today." He laughed as he stretched, and then rose to his feet. Wet Suit was next, and Depth Charge awoke last. All four warriors shouldered their gear and followed Sergeant Culber towards the main desk, where they stood in line to tag their bags.  
  
"Right this way, gentlemen," Culber said as he led them to an idling tram on the tarmac. Five minutes later, the Joes were standing outside a C17 Globemasters III. A young black man approached the SEALs and saluted.  
  
"Morning, gentlemen," he said in a deep baritone. He saluted the group, who returned the gesture. "Lieutenant Carl Tomlinson, USAF. I'll be your chauffer this fine day."  
  
Torpedo laughed, extended his hand, and said, "Torpedo from G.I. Joe. These guys," he turned and pointed at each in turn, "go by the code names Wet Suit, Depth Charge, and Shipwreck."  
  
"Nice to meet you all. We don't lift off for another forty-five minutes, so make yourselves comfortable. It's about four and a half hours from here to Incirlik, and they're an hour ahead, so we'll arrive there at 1700 hours local," Tomlinson said. The Joes made their way to the seating area of the C17 Globemasters III, stowed their bags and strapped in, while the pilot returned to the cockpit area for his final pre-flight checks.  
  
At 1115 hours, the big engines roared to life, and a few moments later the massive plane was wheeling towards the tarmac. Lieutenant Tomlinson's voice crackled over the loudspeaker, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Please return all trays and seat backs to their original upright positions. Your in-flight movie for this trip will be 'Driving Miss Daisy'. Sit back, relax, and enjoy."  
  
The Joes groaned at the pilot's attempt at humor, and then, with a powerful surge, the plane was airborne.  
  
**********  
  
Destro glanced up from the computer display he was monitoring when he heard Anastasia rise from bed. Clad only in a sheer black negligee, she padded over to where he sat hunched over the laptop and purred in his ear, "Good morning, dearest. Everything still in working order?"  
  
He turned to face her, a smile lighting his features. "It will take more than s few hours to break me, kitten," he replied. "According to our sources, the Joes are airborne, and the new micro-transmitter technology I developed seems to be operating perfectly."  
  
The green glow reflected in his mask caused a sudden shiver to run through the Baroness. Destro misinterpreted her reaction and instantly rose, shedding his wool robe and draping it over her shoulders, thinking she was cold. "Thank you, darling," she said. "And our agent was able to determine where the flight is headed?"  
  
"But of course. For the amount of money he's being paid, he should have been on the plane himself," Destro responded. "The aircraft should arrive at Incirlik AB at approximately 5 P.M. local time. My Dominator is standing by to take us to Turkey, where we will rendezvous with a squad of Dr. Mindbender's latest creations, the Sand Vipers. There should also be a squad of Inferno B.A.T.s, Vipers, and suitable high speed transport for each squadron."  
  
"Any word from our agents in Turkey as to the traitor's whereabouts?" she asked.  
  
"Not at this time. There have been no transmissions from her since the initial contact with the Joes," Destro stated. "Fear not, Anastasia. We will find her, and when we do."  
  
The Baroness smiled cruelly, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Yes. And then she will suffer as no other."  
  
**********  
  
1645 hours  
  
The intercom again came to life, rousing the Joes out of their slumber. "We're on the final approach to Incirlik. Should be on the ground in fifteen minutes or so," the pilot's voice said.  
  
"If nothing else, the Air Force is always punctual," Shipwreck stated as he glanced at his watch. "It's quarter to five, just like the man said." Depth Charge stretched, then pulled a small notebook out of his bag and jotted down a quick note. Seeing this, Wet Suit stifled a laugh and said, "First Superman, now a diary?" He laughed as the younger warrior flashed a pissed-off look in his direction. "Whoa, man. I've got a pocket full of Kryptonite here, pal. Better be careful!"  
  
Shipwreck joined in the laughter, glad not to be the butt of a joke for once. Depth Charge's attempt to stay mad lasted about ten seconds, then he too burst out laughing. Torpedo leaned over and looked out the window, watching the big plane's descent into Turkey. The base was bustling with activity, which surprised the SEAL since it was the end of the workday for most folks.  
  
The C-17 touched down promptly at 1700 hours, and taxied to a waiting hangar where the passengers and crew disembarked. Lieutenant Tomlinson led the Joes to the Visiting Officer's Quarters (VOQ) and allowed them to get cleaned up before heading for the mess hall. The men had a quiet dinner, followed by a brief nap in the VOQ. At 2130 hours, Torpedo's wrist comm sounded, and an all too familiar voice said, "Welcome to Turkey, boys. Briefing's in thirty at the MAC."  
  
The three veterans rolled their eyes and groaned in unison. Being the FNG, Depth Charge waited to be filled in on what was wrong. After much bitching and moaning, mostly from Shipwreck, Torpedo looked at Depth Charge and said, "Our intel officer is a guy code-named Chuckles. You'll find out why he got that ridiculous code-name in a bit."  
  
To be continued. 


	3. Briefings

Turnabout  
  
Chapter 3- Briefings  
  
2030 hours, somewhere over Iraq  
  
Destro's full concentration was on the controls of his Dominator. Nap-of- the-earth flying was dicey at the best of times, but when your mind wanders, it's a recipe for disaster. Therefore he did not hear the chime of his communicator until the Baroness lightly touched his arm. Irritated, he whipped his head around and glared at the woman he loved. As he opened his mouth to speak, she pointed to the flashing light on the console. Irritated, he turned the controls over to her before flipping the switch and snapping, "What is it?"  
  
"Good evening to you as well, Destro," Scrap Iron growled sarcastically. "You asked me to advise you when your troops arrived."  
  
"And?" Destro asked.  
  
"Consider yourself advised," the weapons specialist replied. "Scrap Iron out."  
  
The man in the silver mask grinned at his cohort's audacity. Anyone else would have been executed on the spot, but his business partner constantly pushed the boundaries and tested their working relationship. Besides that, Destro liked the man and respected his engineering abilities. He was far too valuable an asset to lose. As he shifted his concentration back towards the controls, he felt more than saw Anastasia relax in her seat.  
  
"We're less than twenty minutes from the rendezvous," the Baroness said. "I have entered the coordinates into the computer. The auto-pilot will engage momentarily." As soon as the words left her mouth, the computer took over piloting the vessel. Reluctantly releasing his grip on the control stick, Destro rose from his seat and stalked towards the rear compartment, a scowl creasing his features.  
  
"Is something wrong, darling?" Baroness asked. The man known as James McCullen Destro XXIV looked over his shoulder, his scowl replaced with a sinister smile. For the briefest of moments, Anastasia felt a twinge of fear as his predatory gaze fell upon her. I no longer control this man, she thought with a shudder.  
  
"Everything is fine, my dear Baroness," he replied with the slightest emphasis on dear. "I should be the one asking you that question. You have not been yourself recently." A sudden shift in engine speed pre-empted the Baroness's reply.  
  
"We're on final approach," she said, hoping to change the subject.  
  
"And this conversation will be continued," Destro said icily.  
  
**********  
  
2045 hours, near the Iraq border  
  
A dust cloud in the distance told him that Destro's transport would be there in moments, so Scrap Iron took the opportunity to look over the troops assembled before him while he waited. There were two five-man teams of COBRA Alley Vipers, one five-man squad of COBRA C.L.A.W.s, one ten-man unit of COBRA Vipers, two Tele-Vipers, and a three-man team of Dr. Mindbender's latest creations, the COBRA Sand Vipers.  
  
Rumor had it the Sand Vipers were brewed from the misfits of COBRA's legions- only the hardest, meanest, most violent men in the ranks were even considered for the training, and out of those men, only 2% made it through the first day. Those who passed the physical and mental challenges of day one were then subjected to a wide range of chemical and surgical alterations, including genetic enhancements to speed, strength, endurance, and agility.  
  
Scrap Iron shook his head as the three Sand Vipers approached, marveling at their feline grace. Their every movement seemed to reveal barely-contained hostility, and their displeasure regarding the delay was evident. Aside from constantly seeking action, these men were killers, pure and simple. They were not used to waiting for anything, preferring to take what they felt was theirs, and to hell with anyone who stood in the way.  
  
In order to curb this attitude, Dr. Mindbender devised an alternating scheme of drug cocktails and Brainwave treatments. Scrap Iron wasn't so sure the plan worked, as these three warriors looked ready to explode in an instant. The biggest of the three approached him, his confident stride sending an involuntary spasm down Scrap Iron's spine.  
  
"What's the hold-up, Hoss?" the gravelly-voiced Viper asked, his face mere inches from Scrap Iron's. "We were told this op would be down and dirty, but for the last five days you been avoidin' us." Before he could answer, he saw Destro's Stinger Jeep pull up behind the massed troops, and the familiar silver-masked man step out.  
  
"Your orders were very clear," Destro's voice rang out across the crowd. "And you will follow them, word for word, whether you like them or not."  
  
The Sand Viper turned around to see who would dare address him in such a fashion, and found himself staring into the large black eye of a .50- caliber Desert Eagle leveled at his head.  
  
"Now, I suggest that you remove yourself from Scrap Iron's personal space, or I will be forced to perforate that pathetic excuse for gray matter between your ears," Destro continued. The Viper stood stock-still, almost daring Destro to pull the trigger.  
  
As Destro's finger started to tense, the larger man moved back towards his comrades. The man in the silver mask rotated along with the Viper, not lowering his handgun until the Viper rejoined his squad. Sand Viper 013's stare burned into Destro's eyes, the sheer hatred and naked fury plainly evident.  
  
Holstering his sidearm, Destro moved to stand beside his business partner. "Glad to see you've got everything under control," he said with a smirk. Seeing his associate's discomfort, he turned and faced the troops standing before him. "As you all may or may not know, we have been sent to secure a threat to COBRA's plans for continued crisis in the Middle East. The plan is as follows."  
  
**********  
  
2200 hours, Incirlik AB  
  
Chuckles was busy setting red-tabbed manila folders in front of each chair when the SEALs walked into the MAC. Depth Charge took one look at the Hawaiian shirt and almost burst out laughing. He nudged Torpedo, who nodded knowingly before taking his seat. Chuckles surveyed the Joes, taking note of the FNG's reaction to his attire.  
  
"Gentlemen," Chuckles started. "First order of business tonight will be details on your quarry, code-named Turnabout. Inside the folders in front of you are several photographs I've managed to dig up, some taken as recently as last month." He gave each man a moment to study the pictures, and then continued. "You'll also find topographical maps of the region the last transmission came from. We've narrowed the signal down to a small village just outside the town of Sinjar. As you can see, this area is in Northwest Iraq, and as such, we cannot just go in there guns blazing." The sailors looked at Chuckles, skepticism plainly etched into their features.  
  
"Your orders clear on this one," the Intel Officer said. "HALO insertion at 0130 just inside the Iraqi border. From there it's about 6 miles to the village we believe Turnabout is holed up in. Most importantly, there will be no firing unless fired upon. Do not, I repeat NOT, engage any targets of opportunity while in-country. This is a straight grab-and-go. Once you secure the package, you are to proceed directly to the Iraqi border. Once on neutral ground, you can radio for pick-up. Radio silence must be maintained at all times while on the ground. I don't need to tell you all how important this op is. Turnabout could break COBRA once and for all."  
  
Chuckles stood up and asked, "Any questions?"  
  
Depth Charge spoke up, asking, "Any word on COBRA activity? I can't shake the feeling we're being set up."  
  
"We have not seen any activity within COBRA High Command on this one. As far as we know, COBRA Commander thinks Turnabout is dead. At this time, we do not believe she has been tracked to her present location," Chuckles said. The sailors mulled this over, apparently satisfied with the answer provided. Just to be sure, he asked, "Anything else?"  
  
When none of the Joes spoke, he continued, "Your gear arrived about an hour ago. Your High Altitude Precision Parachute System (HAPPS) rigs were checked and packed by Ripcord. Your rifles and sidearms were all cleaned and maintained by Beach Head, and cannot be traced back to the states. You'll find the equipment waiting in the staging area, along with sterile BDUs and any other gear you may need. This op is totally black. If you're compromised, you're on your own. If there's nothing else, you're dismissed. Good luck."  
  
The four SEALs stood almost as one and exited the briefing room, making their way to the staging area, ready for the mission ahead of them.  
  
To be continued... 


	4. Insertion

Turnabout  
  
Chapter 4- Insertion  
  
1135 hours, local time  
  
Silence dominated the staging area as the four SEALs checked their weapons and other gear. Each man was embroiled in his own thoughts, striving to comprehend the orders they'd just been given. Going into hostile territory was not a foreign idea to the warriors gathered here, but going into hostile territory to extract a defector was something totally different. Especially when they were given a "Do not engage" order. Torpedo looked around at his crew and was rewarded with a huge grin from Shipwreck. Nothing fazes that guy, he thought.  
  
"I can't even remember my last HALO drop, Chief," Shipwreck said. "I hope it's like riding a bike," he added with a chuckle.  
  
"If you forget how to do it, the ground will break your fall," Wet Suit chimed in.  
  
Depth Charge looked up from his MP-5 and said, "Don't worry, Shipwreck. I'll catch you. You won't get out of buying me a beer that easily." He winked at the older sailor and received a scowl in response. He laughed out loud, and Wet Suit followed his lead. Shipwreck seemed less than amused, but then couldn't contain his laughter either.  
  
"Kid, don't hold your breath waiting on that old salty dog," Torpedo said sarcastically. "He owes the entire PIT at least a round, but more likely a keg apiece."  
  
The older sailor flushed deep red and spluttered, "But, Chief, I. I'll get around to it." He held up his middle finger. "Scout's honor!" The gesture caused a renewed round of laughter, which the SEALs needed to divert their attention from the perils of the upcoming mission. After a few minutes of good-natured ribbing, the soldiers brought themselves back under control and focused on the mission again. They checked each other's High Altitude Precision Parachute System (HAPPS) rigs, and made sure their oxygen supplies were full. The most important aspect of the HAPPS rig are the multiple attachment points for the 150-plus pounds of gear each soldier would carry. Torpedo re-checked every sailor's gear, including his own, and was well satisfied that all was in order. After ensuring their rucksacks were secured to the parachute packs, each man suited up. While they were doing so, Torpedo's wrist comm sounded.  
  
"Torpedo here," he said.  
  
"Transport leaves in ten," Lieutenant Tomlinson said.  
  
"We're on our way," Torpedo replied. Turning to his teammates, he said, "You heard the man, Joes. Let's rock."  
  
The other three SEALs grabbed the remainder of their gear and started for the door. As they trundled towards the tarmac, Depth Charge winked at Wet Suit, chuckled and said, "Boy, an ice-cold beer sure would go down well right now."  
  
Wet Suit, doing a passable impersonation of Shipwreck, replied, "Don't worry. Drinks're on me when we get back!" Both men burst into laughter, and Torpedo smiled at the look on Shipwreck's face. The bearded sailor grimaced, shook his head, and chuckled along with his teammates, knowing he'd been bested.  
  
The sailors hustled out onto the tarmac, double-timing it for the gigantic Hercules transport plane that was idling nearby. They ran up the rear ramp and quickly secured themselves in the cargo area. The men were all peaking on adrenaline, each one absorbed in his own pre-mission rituals.  
  
For Torpedo, it was an MP3 loaded with Elvis tunes. Shipwreck preferred to sharpen his dive knife and re-check his gear. Wet Suit pulled out a worn copy of Homer's Iliad, flicked to the middle, and set to reading while Depth Charge reached into his rucksack and removed his pad and pencil.  
  
Lieutenant Tomlinson's deep baritone came out of the loudspeaker, saying, "Welcome aboard Air Force flight 666, bound for parts unknown. No in- flight movie or drinks tonight, gentlemen. This is strictly business. We'll be lifting off momentarily, and we should be arriving over the drop point at about 0127 local time. Make yourselves comfortable, boys. We'll be there in no time."  
  
The Joes glanced at each other and smiled, each one now ready for the mission in front of them. Torpedo walked amongst the men, making sure that each was strapped in, connected to the plane's oxygen lines, and had a working intercom connection. He got a thumbs up from each man. Before he strapped into his own seat, he checked his green oxygen bottle's gauge to make sure it was fully charged. Once he was satisfied all was in order, he keyed his microphone and said, "All set back here, Lieutenant Tomlinson."  
  
When the aircraft started taxiing towards the runway, he reached up, turned off the incandescent lighting, and threw the switch that bathed the interior of the transport with special red night-vision lighting, giving the compartment and the men inside it an eerie glow.  
  
As the plane made the runway, Lieutenant Tomlinson's voice sounded over Torpedo's intercom, asking, "Ready to go, Chief?"  
  
"We're ready to roll, Lieutenant."  
  
Once the aircraft cleared the ground and the landing gear retracted with a loud clunk, Torpedo and the others out their game faces on. He still had a bad feeling about this mission, but like a good sailor, he would follow his orders to the letter and see this mission to its end.  
  
**********  
  
005 hours, inside Iraq  
  
Destro stalked the halls of the bunker like a caged animal. Anastasia watched him coolly, her heels up on the table in front of her. He was obviously angry, and she knew more than just the current mission was on his mind. "James, you're going to burn a hole in the soles of your boots doing that", she said.  
  
He whirled to face her, and closed the distance between them with two long strides. His mask set in a scowl, he slammed his fists on the table, splintering it and almost causing the Baroness to fall from her chair. She caught herself before her chair tilted backwards, and scrambled to her feet, looking indignant. "JAMES!" she yelled, "What is wrong with you?"  
  
"ME??? You deign to think there is something wrong with ME?" he snarled. "The problem lies with you, my dear Anastasia. Or are you going to tell me the shudders you've been having at the sight of me are due to something other than revulsion?"  
  
She had intended to feign ignorance, but she knew this would only further James' ire. Repressing a sigh, she drew herself up to her full height and met his intense stare. Just as she began to speak, Destro's comm-link burst into life, Scrap Iron's gravelly voice advising him their agent at Incirlik just reported in, and that the Joes were now airborne.  
  
Destro's cold gaze never left the Baroness' own, but instead of speaking, she turned her head and attempted to walk away. "ANASTASIA!" he roared, grabbing her arm before she could move farther away. "DO NOT TURN AWAY FROM ME AGAIN!" He pulled her closer to him, his nose mere millimeters from hers. She noticed his eyes were afire with anger, hurt, and confusion.  
  
"James, you're.hurting.me," she said as she struggled to break his steely grip. "You.are.breaking.my.arm!" she exclaimed in a rush as she finally broke free. "What has gotten into you?"  
  
Destro merely hung his head in shame, his open hands held palm-up in front of him. "What have I done?" he whispered. The Baroness massaged her upper arm and stepped closer to the man she loved. She reached out her hand and touched him lightly on the shoulder. When he finally looked up, she was startled to see a smile on his face.  
  
"Your softness for me will yet be your undoing, my dear," he sneered at her. "Let us talk about this, shall we?" he laughed cruelly as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "We have some time."  
  
**********  
  
0117 hours, over Iraqi airspace  
  
"Gentlemen, we're forty miles out from the drop zone, ETA ten minutes," Tomlinson's voice spoke in all their ears.  
  
"You heard the man, sailors. Check your O2. It's almost showtime," Torpedo said to his crew. Each Joe disconnected form the ship's oxygen supply and turned on their own system, then lined up at the back ramp, Torpedo taking the lead, next Wet Suit, Shipwreck, and Depth Charge bringing up the rear.  
  
Torpedo motioned the sailors together and tapped his watch, signaling he wanted synchronization in three. two. one. The Joes synched their timepieces and formed up for the drop. A chill filled the air as the cargo hold started to depressurize when the ramp descended. Each warrior glanced up at the indicator light, waiting for the signal to jump.  
  
The light flipped to green at precisely 0127 hours, and Torpedo was first out the door. Wet Suit turned to the remaining two sailors, flipped them a double bird, and fell backwards out of the transport. Shipwreck flashed a smile at Depth Charge, who looked shocked at Wet Suit's behavior, clapped the younger soldier on the back, and jumped. Depth Charge shook his head ruefully, said a little prayer, and followed Shipwreck into the inky blackness.  
  
Approximately sixteen minutes later, Torpedo and his crew had safely touched down within a mile of their objective.  
  
**********  
  
0140 hours, just outside the drop zone  
  
Destro was anxious. He knew that he had to beat the Joes to the traitor, but he had to rely on them to get him close enough to swoop in and steal victory from their grasp. He was wondering how he was going to do that when his communicator pinged softly at him.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
"I've spotted the Joes inbound. They appear to be coming down about two kliks away from our current position," Scrap Iron said. "The closest settlement to them is Sinjar, just off the border. Looks like you were right."  
  
"Of course. Did you expect anything different?"  
  
"Nothing like a bit of modesty."  
  
Destro ignored the jibe and said, "Let the Joes land safely and lead us to our quarry. Do not let them out of your sight. The fate of this mission depends on that. Destro out."  
  
"Not a problem, Destro. Scrap Iron out."  
  
A slow grin spread across James McCullen Destro's face. He turned to the Baroness, held out his hand, and said, "We are summoned, my dear."  
  
Anastasia looked at him, fear etched on her features, then reached out for his hand.  
  
To be continued. 


	5. Infiltration

Turnabout  
  
Chapter 5- Infiltration  
  
0145 hours, local time  
  
Torpedo glanced quickly around the landing zone and made sure his team was safely on the ground. After satisfying himself that all was in order, he quickly gathered up his parachute and started digging in the loose soil to bury it. He noticed the other three men were doing the same, the only sound the rasp of the sand as the metal shovel's blade dug into it.  
  
Once his work was done, he belly-crawled to the edge of the outcropping the team had landed on in an attempt to get his bearings. Flipping down his night-vision goggles and scanning the horizon, he estimated the team was about a half-hour hike or so away from their objective. With only five days to locate Turnabout and exfil, Torpedo knew there was not a moment to waste. When the team was gathered together, Torpedo gave the order to maintain complete radio silence and signaled them to move out.  
  
The deep desert sand, combined with the heavy loads each man was carrying stretched the thirty minute hike across the better part of two hours. Each warrior was pushed to the limit of his endurance when they finally reached firmer terrain and picked up the pace a bit. Depth Charge, who was walking point, gave the full-fist hand signal to stop, then motioned Torpedo up while Shipwreck and Wet Suit fanned out into defensive firing positions.  
  
Torpedo pointed to himself, then at Depth Charge, raised both fingers to his eyes and motioned to the small cave found behind some rocky boulders and a low overhang. The two men started forward, eyes constantly scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. Moments later their investigation was complete, and they motioned the other sailors to join them. Torpedo signaled his intent to camp here for the evening, and Shipwreck and Wet Suit unshouldered their packs and headed out to reconnoiter the area while he and Depth Charge quickly set up camp inside the small shelter.  
  
"Welcome to Club Sand," quipped Depth Charge as the other sailors entered the cave. "I'm sorry but our hot tub and weight room are temporarily down for maintenance. Please feel free to swim in the sand sea however. Our guests have raved about the miracles it does for your skin."  
  
The other warriors grinned at the newest member of the team, forgetting for a few seconds how deep inside hostile territory they were. They settled in to a quick meal of MREs then Torpedo assigned watches to get them through the remainder of the night, as well as the following day.  
  
0400 hours  
  
Destro was not known for being a patient man. He seethed as he paced back and forth in front of the low table holding maps of the surrounding terrain. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'VE LOST THEM???" he roared.  
  
"Sir, they seem to have gone to ground before reaching their objective. For some reason, the tracking beacon planted on them is not functioning, and we've lost visual cont-" the Tele-Viper's dialogue was interrupted by the deafening boom of a large-caliber handgun going off in the small space. Blood and brains splashed on the wall and coated Scrap Iron's chest and face. The other Tele-Viper present stood stunned, bits of skull dripping off his goggles.  
  
"I really wish you'd quit killing the help, Destro. It's getting harder and harder to explain to COBRA Commander. And stop waving that cannon around," Scrap Iron said.  
  
Destro lowered the desert eagle and grabbed the remaining Tele-Viper by the shoulders and pulled him closer, lowering his voice to an icy whisper. "Find them. Now. I will not wait any longer."  
  
"S-sir, y-y-yes, s-s-sir!" stammered the panicked Tele-Viper. Destro released the man with a shove, sending him sprawling across the map table and scattering maps, writing utensils, and notes all across the room.  
  
"And clean that up before you leave my sight," Destro said over his shoulder. "You know I can't stand a mess." At that, he laughed cruelly, his cold eyes still radiating his boiling anger. "ANASTASIA!"  
  
The Baroness appeared from the shadows in the doorway, her expression a mixture of terror and love for the man in front of her. She said nothing, simply waiting for her beloved to tell her what he needed. The man in the silver mask pulled her close, stroking her hair and inhaling her scent.  
  
"We are leaving, my dearest," he said as he embraced her. "It's time for a Joe hunt." As he turned to leave, he failed to notice the small smile shared between Scrap Iron and the woman he held in his arms.  
  
0635 hours  
  
Wet Suit was sitting watch at the cavern mouth when a flash of light drew his eye to the northern corner of Sinjar, where the main road entered the small city. He withdrew back a bit from the lip of the cave and brought his field glasses to his face for a better look at the approaching vehicles.  
  
"Chief, you'd better come take a look at this," he called back over his shoulder. Torpedo stirred from his rest and crawled over to Wet Suit's position, taking the proffered glasses. As he brought them up to his eyes, he bit back a curse.  
  
The vehicle in question was clearly marked with COBRA symbols, and the man in the driver's seat was well known to all the Joes on this mission. "What do you suppose he's looking for, directions?" Torpedo asked.  
  
"Funny, Chief. Destro beats us to the punch and you crack jokes. I don't like this," Wet Suit countered.  
  
"Neither do I, but we've got a mission to run, and we knew it wouldn't be easy."  
  
"What's all the racket about? You guys sharing something you don't want us to have?" Shipwreck asked with Depth Charge looking over his shoulder.  
  
"Negative. We're watching one of the boss snakes drive into town. Three guesses as to what he's looking for and the last two don't count," Torpedo replied.  
  
"And here I was hoping for a nice, quiet stay at Club Sand," Shipwreck groaned. "Who do we have?"  
  
"Does a beryllium steel mask ring any bells?" Wet Suit added.  
  
"Hmmmm," Depth Charge thought for a moment. "Is it that creepy guy that was on Max Steel?" he asked with a dead serious expression. Wet Suit showed him who number one was, his stony face creasing into a wide grin.  
  
"But I thought I was your favorite," Shipwreck moaned. "Oh, the humanity!" he swooned, with the back of one hand pressed to his forehead.  
  
"Let's get serious, gentlemen," Torpedo broke in. "This ups our timetable significantly, and that could be a problem."  
  
"Do you think they know where Turnabout's located?" asked Depth Charge.  
  
"Negative, but I do think they know we're here," responded Torpedo.  
  
"What makes you say that, Chief?" this from Shipwreck.  
  
"Well, I'd say it's just a gut feeling, but the Stinger patrols I saw leaving the village while you all were playing grab-ass would be more accurate," the big SEAL replied. "It looks like two cars went in each direction, so if my estimates are right, they should be here by just after nightfall. Let's get this hole sterilized, sailors. They can't know where we've been."  
  
0642 hours  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"Sand Viper 005 reporting movement in a small ravine south of objective."  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"Sand Viper 005 acknowledged. Same movement spotted by 013. Preparing to intercept."  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"Sand Viper 022 will provide cover."  
  
As the two sand vipers closed in on their objective, they assumed a kill- team formation which would allow nothing to slip through once they opened fire. They rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with a small herd of goats led by an obviously frightened young boy, who was busy soiling himself as he gazed upon the two apparitions which just appeared before him.  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"False alarm 022. Keep your eyes open."  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"Copy that. 022 out."  
  
0643 hours  
  
The SEALs performed one last sweep of their shelter before moving out into the already-hot desert. Satisfied no traces of their passing showed, the sailors moved out towards the east and another rock gully (or wadi as it was known locally) to possibly hole up in.  
  
They were blissfully unaware of the three COBRA troopers less than 100 meters away, and the Sand Vipers were equally unaware of them. The Joes moved quickly and quietly for the closet wadi, careful to keep their heads down and their senses sharp.  
  
Little did they know that things were about to get white-hot, and in a few short hours their mission would take a turn for the worst. 


	6. Manuevers

Turnabout  
  
Chapter 6- Maneuvers  
  
0830 hours, Day 2 in-country  
  
The Baroness paced across the floor of the small stone house like a caged animal. Her thoughts were racing, but kept returning to one point: what would her beloved do when he found out her secret? It was getting harder and harder for her to maintain the ruse, as James knew her well enough to know something was amiss.  
  
She had to come up with a way out of this mess before someone talked. She could only see two solutions to her problem, neither of which left a good taste in her mouth.  
  
0853 hours  
  
Torpedo had been asleep for about 20 minutes when an urgent hiss from the back of the small shelter they were wedged in snapped him fully awake. Shipwreck motioned him over and showed the Chief what he had found. Grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat, Shipwreck did his best Vanna White impression as he stepped aside to reveal a small concealed door in the rock formation, which opened onto a small tunnel.  
  
"Boss, Depth Charge and I have scoped the first hundred meters or so out. This doesn't seem to have been used in a while."  
  
"Any ideas as to where it might lead?"  
  
At that, Depth Charge popped his head through the doorway and added, "We took readings both off the GPS and our wrist comms while down there and all indications are that the general heading is in the direction of Sinjar."  
  
"I'm not sure being trapped down there is such a good idea," Torpedo lamented. No sooner did the words leave his mouth did Wet Suit come padding up from the mouth of the tunnel where he was on watch.  
  
"We've got trouble times three, Chief," he whispered. "Snakes are heading this way, and it's not a type I've seen before."  
  
"ETA?" Torpedo asked.  
  
"Less than three."  
  
The SEAL team leader made a snap decision and hissed out orders. "Let's go, ladies! Clean it up and get into the tunnel. We'll make for the first exit we find and get our bearings again."  
  
The other sailors didn't respond aside from rushing to follow the directives Torpedo issued. They scrambled to shoulder their packs and hastily covered their tracks, each man diving through the small opening, weapons at the ready.  
  
"The only easy day was yesterday," Torpedo muttered under his breath as he followed his men into the unknown territory of the tunnels, hoping they had covered their trail well enough to buy a few moments' worth of a head start.  
  
0859 hours  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"005-have confirmed visual of booted track heading North/Northwest towards small fissure known to contain escape tunnels. Grid location C241 by L619."  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"022 and 013 on the way."  
  
*skkkrit*  
  
"005 awaiting arrival."  
  
The other Sand Vipers arrived moments later to inspect what their comrade found, and they all came to the same conclusion.  
  
"Form on me, pyramid kill-zone. Let's go bag some grunts," 013 said. The three killers strode purposely across the rough stone, cresting a rise and looking straight into the mouth of the cave where the Joes had been just moments before.  
  
"Let's liven things up a bit," 013 said as he plucked a fragmentation grenade from his harness. Pulling the pin, he popped the spoon and counted to three before lobbing the explosive device into the small cavern. As soon as the grenade detonated, the three warriors were on their feet and rushing the cave, their G36 assault rifles gripped in ready hands.  
  
It was only a matter of moments before they determined the Joes had already evacuated the chamber, and mere seconds after that to find the door leading to the tunnels hanging off its hinges from the force of the explosion.  
  
0901 hours  
  
A low rumble reached the SEALs' ears as they hustled through the tunnels looking for an exit.  
  
"Looks like our boys arrived right on time," Wet Suit mused. "I hate being right all the time."  
  
"It sucks to be so damn good, eh, Brian?" Shipwreck chided. The use of Wet Suit's first name was a sure sign the older sailor was on edge.  
  
"Enough chatter. Let's work on finding an exit. I don't want this place to become a mausoleum," Torpedo stated. The men traveled another 100 yards and came to a 'T' intersection. He consulted his wrist comm and took the left tunnel. After another 50 yards, the sailors found a line of ladders, two leading up, two leading down.  
  
"SHIT!" Depth Charge exclaimed. "What the fuck do we do now?"  
  
The sound of boots running down the corridor and the splashes of light coming towards them answered the question prematurely.  
  
"Pick one and go! Worry about our bearings later. If we sit here, we're dead!" hissed Shipwreck. Depth Charge grabbed one of the descending ladders and slid to the bottom, MP5 at the ready.  
  
"10 foot drop," he yelled up.  
  
Wet Suit followed, then Shipwreck. Torpedo took an extra second to make tracks in the dusty floor at each of the ladders before jumping down into the hole his teammates disappeared down.  
  
As the SEALs played their tac-lights across their surroundings, they found themselves in what appeared to be a barracks room, long since abandoned. Torpedo used abrupt hand motions indicating the team should kill the illumination and switch to night vision. With a flick of two fingers he gave the 'move out' signal and the team quickly crossed the room towards the exit.  
  
Spotting no movement in the corridor just outside the barracks room, Torpedo assumed the point position and led his troops down a small corridor which ended abruptly in a ladder leading up. Tapping Depth Charge on the helmet, he motioned the kid to go up first, Shipwreck and Wet Suit to follow, and he would take up the rear.  
  
Depth Charge scampered up the ladder, pistol in hand just in case there were any surprises waiting for them at the top.  
  
0901 hours  
  
Destro slammed his hands down on the small table, his scowl emphasized by the beryllium mask he wore. Both Scrap Iron and the Baroness held their breath, waiting for the imminent explosion. Suddenly, Anastasia's lover stopped dead in his tracks, a broad smile creasing his features. He turned to Scrap Iron, who returned the smile halfheartedly and awaited what the larger man would say.  
  
"Scrap Iron, wasn't this area once used as a staging ground for our friend Saddam's Baath party?" Destro asked.  
  
"I believe so, yes," Scrap Iron replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Everything, my dear boy. Everything. Anastasia, gather the Alley Viper squads. Tell them we've got some rats in the tunnels we need to flush out," Destro commanded. The Baroness rushed to do as she was bidden, barking out orders as soon as she cleared the door.  
  
Scrap Iron looked at his employer quizzically, asking "Did I miss something? What's this about tunnels?"  
  
"Ever since Saddam took this country over many years ago, he's been digging underground tunnels which served as bunkers, staging areas, and escape passages. This country is littered with them, and I'd wager my corporation the Joes are planning on using these passages to exfiltrate our beloved traitor," Destro explained.  
  
"How do you know that's where they went?"  
  
"Because it occurred to me that the only way my devices would have stopped transmitting is if they were shielded somehow."  
  
"Like under several feet of rock?"  
  
"Ever the astute one, Scrap Iron."  
  
"Let's go see what we can flush out, shall we?"  
  
"I need you to stay here and keep an eye on the Ba- things while I'm away," Destro said, his eyes gazing off into the distance. "I'll be back tomorrow after I settle an old score." He pulled back the slide on his Desert Eagle, making sure a round was chambered.  
  
"Will do, Destro. Happy hunting. And give Sharrome a little kiss for me, would you?" 


End file.
